In just a moment, CBS will present its weekly program of the world's outstanding thrillers, Suspense.
Before we begin, the producer feels it incumbent upon him to reply herewith
to the many inquiries concerning the solution of last week's story
of the woman on the telephone called Sorry Wrong Number.
Due to a momentary confusion in the studio, an important line cue was delivered at the wrong time,
and some of our listeners were uncertain as to the outcome of the story.
For them, be it known that the woman, so remarkably played by Miss Agnes Moorhead,
was murdered by a man whom her husband had hired to do the job.
We should also like to announce that in response to many hundreds of requests,
this Suspense play will be repeated within a few weeks.
And now, this is the man in black, here again to introduce our performance tonight of Suspense.
Our stars this evening are two distinguished gentlemen from the Hollywood Sound stages,
Mr. Donald Crisp and Mr. John Loder.
Mr. Crisp and Mr. Loder are here to enact for us a strange and startling drama
in which they, in the interest of justice, made use of an unusual method
to wring a confession of guilt from a criminal.
The story is by Rupert Croft Cooke and is called Benquo's Chair.
And so with Benquo's Chair and the performances of Donald Crisp as Sir William Brent
and John Loder as Arthur Grange, Sir William's friend who relates the story to us,
we again hope to keep you in Suspense.
I would like you to look at this photograph.
It's the picture of Sir William Brent, ex-head of the English Criminal Investigation.
I knew Sir William well and he always terrified me.
Not in the sense that he was brutal or evil, he was none of that.
But look at that cold face, particularly his eyes.
When he looked at you, you flushed with guilt.
Every misdeed you ever committed in your life floated over your face.
A glance from him made you feel as if you were stark naked.
He saw you with all your defenses down.
Sir William was the scourge of criminals, coldly unemotional, utterly without fear or passion.
He tracked them down mercilessly and never lost a case.
There was no feeling in him, no pity, no hate, nothing but terrifying cold intelligence.
And he was deadly to everyone he went after.
I'm going to tell you about his last case, a case that, well, even recalling it sends
real shudders through me.
I swear it's true.
I saw it with my own eyes.
I wish I never had.
I witnessed it in all its dreadful details.
One night at the club, about 11 o'clock, a boy came up to me.
Telegram for you, sir.
I ripped open the envelope and read the telegram.
Dear Arthur, will you come and dine with me at Turret House, Sydenham on Thursday?
There will be several guests and I think I can promise you an unforgettable evening.
It was signed by Sir William Brent.
I was annoyed.
I don't like to receive telegrams so late in the evening and Sir William could easily
have phoned, unless he didn't want to go into details with me.
I decided to phone him.
Hello?
Hello?
This is Arthur Grange calling.
Yes, I know.
Did you receive my telegram?
Yes, Sir William.
What's all the mystery about it?
Well, I'll tell you about it on Thursday.
Are you coming?
Yes, I'll be there.
Very good.
I particularly want you to be there.
You sound so mysterious.
I'm thinking of coming armed or bringing several bodyguards.
No, it won't be necessary to bring any bodyguards, but you'd better come armed, well armed.
Yes, bring a revolver.
Good night.
Early Thursday evening I made my way to Turret House.
A windy November rain slashed at the streets.
Turret House is a huge red blick, unpleasantly somber mansion, an ugly product of Queen Victoria's
time.
There it's squatted, back of the road, almost hidden to view by several dripping pine trees.
The neighborhood had known better days.
I walked up along the unkept path until I reached the great open door.
I let the knocker fall once or twice and the door opened.
Good evening, Mr. Grange.
I was waiting for you.
Hello, Lane.
Nasty night, sir, isn't it?
There's not much warmer in here.
There's a fire in the dining room, sir.
What ever made Sir William move into this drafty dungeon?
Oh, we haven't moved in, sir.
It's only temporary.
Sir William just rented it.
We still live in the West End.
Oh, I see.
Have any of the other guests arrived?
Yes, Mr. Grange.
Miss Stone is here.
Miss Stone?
Yes, the mystery writer.
This way, Mr. Grange.
I'll show you to the dining room.
Sir William will be down shortly.
Oh, hello.
I'm Roberta Stone.
How do you do?
I'm Arthur Grange, an old friend of Sir William.
Yes, I know.
I've read some of your mystery stories and enjoyed them very much.
Thank you, Mr. Grange.
Just what is going on here tonight?
I don't know.
Sir William sounded awfully mysterious.
But then I've known Sir William for a long time.
He never lets anyone down.
If anything, he understates.
I know.
He told me to come armed.
He told me the same thing.
Here's my gun.
I must admit, I've never fired it in my life.
This house is certainly a proper background for anything unpleasant.
It's already been the scene of a crime.
Oh, what crime?
Murder.
A particularly unpleasant one.
Really?
I must say the murderer couldn't have picked a more ideal spot.
Isn't it a fact?
You know, I once wrote a story...
Good evening, Roberta.
Arthur.
I'm glad you're both on time.
Hello, Sir William.
Hello.
Nice apartment you have here.
A sort of mausoleum and dining room combined.
You're a bit afraid, aren't you?
Of course not.
Why should I be?
Your eyes give you away.
What's all this about?
Invite us to this god-versaicone dungeon and tell us to come armed?
Don't be upset, Arthur.
I'm sure you'll come out of this all right.
You mean we may be in some danger?
Naturally, I wouldn't tell you to come armed otherwise.
Who is this other guest, Sir William?
There are two more guests.
But first we'll have a drink and then I'll tell you both all about it.
Lane.
Yes, Sir William?
Will you serve the drinks?
Yes, Sir.
Now, I'll tell you what's going to happen tonight.
This house, Turrett House, was the scene of the Sydenham murder, a very famous case.
Yes, I know about it.
That's right.
No offense, old man, but wasn't it the only case you never solved?
You're wrong, Arthur.
I solved the Sydenham case, but I couldn't bring the criminal to justice because of insufficient
evidence.
You mean you knew who the murderer was?
Oh, yes, of course.
It was the nephew.
The police knew it too.
And why in the world didn't you bring the case to a conclusion?
Because the nephew had an absolute and unimpeachable alibi.
To have arrested him would have meant a waste of time and money and a release in the end.
Besides, according to English law, a man discharged can never be arrested again on the same murder
charge.
Well, this is all very fascinating.
Has it anything to do with our being here tonight?
Yes, Roberta, it has.
In a short while, the nephew, John Bedford, will be here to dine with us.
And, oh yes, the victim, Miss Ferguson.
What?
Well, wait.
You mean Miss Ferguson wasn't actually murdered?
Miss Ferguson is quite dead.
Has been dead these two years.
You mean you're going to have the body of Miss Ferguson here at dinner?
Oh, this is a little too much.
If you'll excuse me, I'll dine elsewhere tonight.
Not so fast, Roberta.
Perhaps you'd better wait until you hear the rest of the story.
This promises to be a very gay dinner.
Oh, yes.
Now, as you both know, I've never lost a case except the Sydenham murder, which will
be finished tonight.
Now, I'm an egotist.
I don't believe there's a criminal in all England that can outwit me.
As a matter of fact, I've resigned from the criminal investigation for the sole reason
of trapping Mr. John Bedford.
It's hard to believe.
Well, I told you I was an egotist.
No criminal has beaten me yet, and no one ever will.
You have an awful lot of patience.
Oh, infinite patience.
I devoted two years to this case, and now that my moment of triumph has arrived, I wanted
to have some witnesses.
A writer who will record the event and an admirer who will applaud with awe the trickiness
of my scheme.
Well, if it's as gruesome as I think it is, I won't be here to watch it.
Oh, yes, you will.
Horror has a way of fascinating and hypnotizing people.
Besides, Arthur, you'd be ashamed to run out now.
I'll stay, of course.
So will I.
Good.
Now, before I tell you my scheme, let me first acquaint you with the details of the murder.
Exactly two years ago tonight, old Miss Ferguson.
Where is that foolish maid?
Yes, Miss Ferguson?
Why don't you answer when I call?
I was in the kitchen, ma'am.
It's after 10 o'clock.
You should be on your way home.
I was just about to leave.
Has my nephew called?
No, ma'am.
Mr. Bedford hasn't called since yesterday.
I told him he couldn't come in, just like you said.
I don't ever want to see him again.
He's no good.
He's an evil man who will come to an evil end.
You're never to let him in here, Hilda.
He won't ever come in this house if I can help it.
No, ma'am.
Now you'd better run along and make sure all the doors are bolted.
Yes, ma'am.
Good night, Miss Ferguson.
Good night, Hilda.
A pity about that nephew of mine.
I'll change my will.
I won't leave him a penny.
I won't.
In the morning, I'll change the will that's...
Who's there?
Who is it?
It's I, Aunt Martha, your own affectionate nephew.
What are you doing in my house?
You're not at all pleased to see me.
You're only living relative, too.
I'd like you to leave at once or call the police, I suppose.
I'd rather not, Auntie.
I won't ever talk with you.
You don't want to talk to me.
All you want is money.
Yes, Auntie, I do want money and lots of it.
You've got all the money you'll ever get out of me.
You won't even get a penny after I die.
I'll see to that.
Perhaps you'll appreciate the value of money after you've worked for it.
You know, Auntie...
You're... you're wearing gloves.
What are you up to?
I've made up my mind.
What are you doing?
Keep away!
You're an old woman.
All that money's no good for you.
You can never use it.
I'm young and money means life to me.
A rich and gay life.
You're old and you're going to die soon anyway.
No!
No, it can't be!
You're not going to do that!
Yes, Auntie, I am.
You don't want to live anywhere.
You're lonely, you're sick and you're old.
I'm going to do you a favour.
Nobody can hear you now.
I'm your heir.
Your only heir, Auntie.
You're next of kin.
The estate is going to be mine.
All of it.
Now, don't you worry, Auntie.
We'll have a fine funeral for you.
That's pretty much the way old Miss Ferguson was murdered.
Oh, how ghastly.
Still to found the body the next morning.
I immediately went to work on the case.
All the evidence pointed to John Bedford.
Everyone believed he committed the crime.
He almost admitted it himself.
I had him brought to my office for questioning.
Oh, hello, Bedford.
Come in.
Thank you, sir.
How do you do, sir, will you?
Cigarette?
Oh, thank you.
Well, how does it feel to kill your own aunt?
May I have a light, please?
Of course.
Thank you.
I wouldn't know, sir, William.
You see, I never killed anyone.
Have you?
I have, Mr. Bedford, and I've sent quite a few to the gallows.
Oh, so I understand.
What was your relationship to Miss Ferguson?
She was my aunt.
Don't be flippant.
Flippancy only proves your guilt.
Well, to tell you the truth, sir, my aunt didn't like me.
She thought I was a spendthrift and a useless parasite, and she was quite right.
Would you mind telling me where you were the night your aunt was murdered?
Oh, not at all.
In jail.
I had drunk a little too much and gotten into a bit of a tiff with someone, as well.
Have you ever been arrested for drunkenness before?
Never, sir, William.
This was my first offence.
That's quite an alibi.
Quite a fact.
It would hardly be possible for me to be in jail and kill my aunt at the same time, you
know, unless, of course, my aunt came into my cell and allowed me to murder her, after
which she walked back to Turret House as a ghost, dragging her body behind her.
According to my reports, Mr. Bedford, you drink very little.
No one who knows you has ever seen you drunk before.
You probably got drunk in joyful anticipation of murdering your aunt.
As a thoroughgoing criminal investigator, don't you think you ought to check my story?
I already have.
You've done a very skillful job.
Too bad you couldn't use your talents for something constructive.
Well, why don't you arrest me, sir, William?
No, Mr. Bedford, I have time.
Plenty of time.
Well, you'd better work fast.
By the time you get around to me, I'll have spent all of my aunt's beautiful money.
It's not the money we're after.
It's you, your beautiful life.
Good day, Mr. Bedford.
That's how matters to it.
I refuse to let any of my men arrest him.
But how in the world could he have murdered his aunt while he was in jail?
Perhaps he bribed the prison guard to let him out for an hour.
Yes, Roberto, I believe he did.
Unfortunately, the guard died of pneumonia soon afterwards, which left us no further source
of evidence.
As far as I can see at the moment, sir William, you haven't a leg to stand on.
You're quite right, Arthur, I haven't.
Except that every man, particularly a criminal, has an Achilles heel.
I discovered John Bedford's weakness.
What is it?
He's superstitious.
And it annoyed me tremendously that John Bedford was my first failure.
He was a clever, calloused criminal who laughed at me.
No one had ever done that before.
Bedford knew I could do him no harm, and he made the most of it.
Carefully and patiently, I thought it over.
I looked upon Bedford as you would look on a Chinese puzzle.
There is no such thing as an impregnable defense.
A few months later, I went to visit Bedford.
Well, Sir William Brent.
What a surprise.
Won't you come in, please?
Thank you, Mr. Bedford.
Well, I'm honored to have the great Sir William Brent pay me a visit.
You're not after any more clues.
I hope it gets rather tedious, you know.
No, not at all.
I know when I'm licked.
Well, I don't want to appear smug, sir, but everyone has his Waterloo.
Would you have a drink?
No, thanks.
I suppose you're curious about why I came here.
Well, I'd hardly imagine it was a friendly visit.
On the contrary, it is.
You see, I admire brilliant people, no matter what they're calling.
Oh, you're very flattering, Sir William.
I've resigned from the incriminate investigation.
I'm a private citizen now.
Yes, I've heard about that.
Most people misunderstand me.
It wasn't my love for justice that made me pursue my profession with such tenacity and
Success?
No, with the sole exception of your case, of course, it was a game of skill to me, my
wits against all comers.
I lost in your case.
But then we've all got to lose some time, haven't we?
I don't believe you, Sir William.
You're still out to get me.
Well, there isn't much of a chance, is there?
I'm afraid not, Sir William.
I've kept out of trouble so far.
Knock wood.
Hmm.
That's an odd habit for a man like you, knocking on wood.
You're not superstitious, are you?
Of course not.
Just a habit since I was a child.
I see.
Well, now to the reason for my visit.
I noticed in the papers that you're looking for a tenant for Turret House.
Oh, yes, I am.
I'd like to rent it.
Well, the scene of the crime, huh?
Well, of course, why not?
There's no harm in it.
As a matter of fact, I'll let you have it very cheaply.
That's how I rented this house, the house where the murder was committed.
Well, what's your plan?
It had better be a good one.
Mr. Bedford sounds like a hard customer.
Yes, it's a strange plan, but an effective one.
I saw Bedford frequently.
Our acquaintance blossomed into a kind of friendship, an armed friendship, of course.
He knew I was out to get him, and I wanted him to know that.
He's vain, very vain.
And this game intrigued him.
I also learned that he was very superstitious, although he denied it vigorously.
Tonight is the anniversary of the murder, and tonight Mr. Bedford dines with us at eight
o'clock.
It's nearly eight now.
Now, this is the plan.
You know May Wakefield.
Of course.
She's the famous Shakespearean actress.
That's right.
During dinner, she will enter the room in the precise likeness of Miss Ferguson, the
murdered woman.
We, of course, will pretend not to see her.
We remain outwardly unconscious of her.
Only Bedford will be aware of her presence.
I believe Bedford will confess.
I'd imagine he'd keep away on this night, especially if it's the anniversary.
He's giddy with success.
And also, the fact that Roberta Stone, the famous writer, is here with us, tweaks his
vanity.
He'll be here promptly.
Oh, I don't like this.
Well, this is just like one of your stories.
It doesn't become you to be frightened.
Oh, I won't run away.
Well, there's one more thing.
During dinner, the electric lights will be switched off at the main, and candles will
be lit.
Oh.
We must have the correct atmosphere.
You understand now?
You're not to see May Wakefield.
She doesn't exist for us.
Is that clear?
I'll look right through her.
Oh, it gives me the creeps.
That I am sure is our Mr. Bedford.
The appearance of John Bedford suddenly made the whole scene grimly real.
He was a tall, well-built man in his late 30s, immaculately dressed and perfectly groomed.
At first sight, his face seemed pleasant enough.
But on closer scrutiny, his gray eyes were hard and cold.
He looked us over, all of us, with arrogance and superiority.
I heartily wished I was elsewhere.
This was one scene I had no desire to witness.
After the introductions were over, we sat down to dinner.
Is it still nasty outside, Mr. Bedford?
Yes, and getting worse.
Looks like we're in for a few days, are they?
Too bad.
I was going to do some writing tomorrow.
The soup is excellent.
Yes, your cook should be congratulated, son.
The soup's a masterpiece.
Poor Alice.
She's been my cook for 20 years.
But she's given me notice, absolutely refuses to stay here, says this house is haunted.
So?
Sir, this might make an interesting story for you.
Yes, Sir William.
You should speak to her.
Alice swears that she has seen the figure of an elderly lady with finger marks on her
throat walking about this house.
Come now, Sir William.
This is too good.
Such an obvious attempt to frighten me.
Sir William is convinced that I murdered my aunt.
Please, Sir William, a little more subtlety.
Surely I deserve it.
Perhaps the cook did see the figure.
As you very well know, Mr Bedford, I don't believe in ghosts.
And I'm sure my cook never saw this elderly figure.
It's all in her mind.
Well, I'm afraid your little attempt didn't work, sir, but I must admire your graceful
admittance of its failure.
Well, I suppose I'd better give up, shouldn't I?
Oh, no, no, no, never give up.
If at first you don't succeed, you know.
Do you live very far from here, Mr Bedford?
Thank you, Miss Stone, but there's no need to change the topic.
I hope you find this game as amusing as I do.
I'm sorry, Mr Bedford, but this isn't my idea of pleasant dinner conversation.
Oh, we'll talk of pleasant things.
I saw a very exciting play last night.
Excuse me a moment.
It's really fearfully hot in here.
Do you mind if we get a little air, please?
Oh, I'm sorry.
It is rather warm.
Lane, open one of the windows, please.
Yes, sir.
Awful weather, isn't it?
Yes.
I don't know how we're going to get home, really.
It's a bad month of the year.
I'd intended to go to the Riviera for...
What's the matter?
Honest.
Lane, what on earth is wrong with the lights?
I don't know, sir.
Well, don't stand there.
Light the candles.
Sit here in the darkness and get the chauffeur.
He knows something about electric lights.
I'll call the chauffeur right away, sir.
I'm terribly sorry about this.
We've had trouble with the wiring before.
The chauffeur will have it fixed in a few moments.
Now, let's get on with our dinner.
If this is one of your tricks, Sir William, I...
Oh, have some more wine, Mr Bedford.
It was a tense and terrible moment.
I looked at Roberta.
She was pale and frightened.
Bedford, for all his poise, was uneasy.
He didn't know whether Sir William was planning anything
or whether this was really an accident.
My heart was pounding away and my palms were moist with perspiration.
Only Sir William appeared cool.
There was not a trace of emotion in his face.
Oh, Mr Bedford, you were saying about visiting the Riviera.
Yes.
It's quite a change from England at this time of year.
I suppose I'll make the trip next month, but no...
What's the matter, Mr Bedford?
Nothing.
Nothing at all.
I wish we could have some light.
It's rather difficult to see.
I'm terribly sorry this had to happen just at dinner.
Have a little more wine, Mr Bedford.
Yes, yes, thank you.
The figure of a woman had entered the room.
She had come in silently, like a ghost.
We all saw her, but not one of us moved or made a sign of recognition.
In the dim candlelight, she looked ghostly and unreal.
Bedford looked at all of us to see if we also had seen the figure,
but we ate our dinner grimly.
He looked again, then shook his head and gulped more wine.
Don't any of you see anything?
See what, Mr Bedford?
This is another one of your tricks.
Can't any of you see her?
What's got into you, Bedford?
It's my aunt.
My aunt!
Perhaps you've had too much to drink.
Your aunt's dead, Mr Bedford.
You're not seeing ghosts, I hope.
Perhaps I drank too much.
Yes, of course.
She's coming toward me.
Calm yourself.
I've never seen you like this.
There's no one else here.
Do you see anyone, Roberta?
No, no, Sir William.
I don't either.
I'm leaving.
I can't make you out, Bedford.
You don't seem to be drunk.
You're not wearing your gloves today, John.
She's real.
Can't any of you see her?
Can't you hear her?
What's come over you, Bedford?
I'm leaving here.
She's at the door.
She won't let me out now.
I'm an old woman.
Money is no good for me.
I'm lonely, John.
I'm lonely.
Let me buy a mother out of my way.
There's no one in your way, Bedford.
Come, sit down.
Get away from that door.
I'll murder you again.
Give me a mother.
I'll murder you again.
You always shall murder you again.
All right.
I'm leaving.
I'm leaving.
I'm leaving.
I'm leaving.
I'm leaving.
I'm leaving.
All right.
Switch on the lights.
Oh, Officer Graham.
Come along.
Arrest him.
You've heard the confession.
Put the handcuffs on him.
I've got him, sir.
I have never seen anything so horrible.
Well, Bedford, it seems that I've finally caught up with you.
I'll kill her again.
I'll kill her again.
That wasn't your aunt.
It was May Wakefield, the actress.
I'll kill her again.
I'll kill her again.
Take him away, Graham.
He's in a state of shock.
Well, shall we continue with our dinner?
I hope you're fully satisfied, Sir William.
Quite.
It's been a long job, but it has ended as I knew it would.
I'm most grateful to you both for your help.
I thought it was a pretty grim affair.
Oh, your methods repel me.
But I suppose you know your job.
May Wakefield certainly knew hers.
That was the finest piece of acting I've ever seen.
Her makeup was incredibly good.
We must congratulate her.
She's probably gone to her room.
Lane!
Yes, sir?
Please call Miss Wakefield.
Miss Wakefield, sir?
Yes, the lady who's been assisting us this evening.
Well, I'll look for her, sir.
Tell her to come down and join us.
We have a fine dinner waiting for her.
Excuse me, sir.
This telegram came a little while ago.
I didn't want to disturb you during dinner.
Oh, yes, let me have it.
Good heavens.
Sir William, what's wrong?
I'll read it to you.
Severe influenza makes it impossible for me to leave my bed tonight.
Will tomorrow night do.
Signed, May Wakefield.
Lord, help us.
If it wasn't May Wakefield, then who was that figure here tonight?
There was no answer.
I looked at Sir William, staring at the telegram.
His face was gray and stony.
On his left temple, a crooked blue vein stood out.
It twitched once or twice and then was motionless.
He looked?
He looked as though he'd seen a ghost.
And so closes Banquo's Chair, starring Donald Crisp and John Loder.
Tonight's tale of suspense.
Now you may want to make a note of a change of time in these programs.
Beginning next Tuesday, suspense will be heard a half hour later,
or 10 to 10.30 Eastern War time.
This is your narrator, the man in black, who conveys to you Columbia's invitation
to spend this half hour in suspense with us at our new time next Tuesday,
when Vincent Price, Ona Munson and Osa Masson will star in the suspense play
Five Canaries in the Room.
The producer of these broadcasts is William Spear, with Ted Bliss, the director,
Lud Gluskin and Lucian Marowick, conductor and composer,
and Edmund Miller, the radio author, collaborated on tonight's suspense.
This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.